


Revenant

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Breeding Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dragon Genji Shimada, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Feral Genji, Lots of Murder, M/M, Mild Cannibalism, Oviposition, Sibling Incest, Teratophilia, Violence, Written for the Overwatch Kink Zine, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Genji’s blood is on his face, and on his hands, and in his mouth— but that’s all part of the plan.  Hanzo hates that it’s necessary, but it’s the only thing he could think of, the only way to save Genji and keep the Shimada clan from falling apart.  It’s all he has left of his father that means anything. The castle. The clan.A bow, and his brother, and a bloodline.But the elders never stop taking things into their own hands, until no one is safe, and Genji is in his room in the middle of the night with the body of an assassin at his feet.  Or in the courtyard with an arrow buried in the wood of the gates right next to his skull, or in the streets of Hanamura ducking under a sword, dodging a knife, evading a killing blow.It’s not just insulting anymore, it’s dangerous, and Hanzo has to act.  To put on a show for the elders. Kill his brother, preserve the dignity of the clan.Hanzo loves Genji too much to go through with it the way they’d like, but he can pretend.  Has been pretending his entire life. Pretending to be a good son, pretending the clan was all that mattered to him, that he is still eager to lead them.Pretending that Genji was his brother, and nothing more.





	Revenant

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Overwatch Kink Zine. There is art to go with this, and if/when it is posted, I will toss up a link to it so you can see how amazing it is. Mind the tags and please enjoy.

Something is wrong.

 

Of course something is wrong, Genji’s blood is on his face, and on his hands, and in his mouth— but that’s all part of the plan.  Hanzo hates that it’s necessary, but it’s the only thing he could think of, the only way to save Genji and keep the Shimada clan from falling apart.  Sojiro’s life’s work, and Hanzo has to do whatever he can to preserve it. It’s all he has left of his father that means anything. The castle. The clan.

 

A bow, and his brother, and a bloodline.

 

But the elders never stop.  They’re always pushing, needling, meddling.  Taking things into their own hands, until no one is safe, and Genji is in his room in the middle of the night with the body of an assassin at his feet.  Or in the courtyard with an arrow buried in the wood of the gates right next to his skull, or in the streets of Hanamura ducking under a sword, dodging a knife, evading a killing blow. 

 

It’s not just insulting anymore, it’s dangerous, and Hanzo has to act.  To put on a show for the elders. Kill his brother, preserve the dignity of the clan.

 

Hanzo loves Genji too much to go through with it the way they’d like, but he can pretend.  Has been pretending his entire life. Pretending to be a good son,  _ pretending  _ the clan was all that mattered to him, that he is still eager to lead them.

 

Pretending that Genji was his brother, and nothing more.

 

It’s why he kneels in the temple, Genji in his lap, clutching at Hanzo’s clothes.  Their fight is over but his breathing is too shallow, his eyes too wide. Genji looks surprised, which isn’t right, not when everything is going as it should be, just like they discussed.

 

Overwatch has a strike team hiding in a van just outside the arcade, waiting for Hanzo’s signal.  They’ll come in, whisk Genji away under the pretense of a raid. Their medics will stitch him up, heal his wounds.  It will give Hanzo enough time to get them both away clean, without yakuza on their trail, hounding after them for the rest of their lives.

 

If he has to be footsoldier for Overwatch to keep his brother by his side, so be it.  He’s done worse things for less reward.

 

Except Genji’s blood tastes wrong on his tongue.  It’s sharper than it should be, bitter, and Hanzo frowns as he licks it from his bottom lip, brows furrowing when he looks down at Genji.  Genji laughs, and it shifts into a cough, gore misting out over Hanzo’s face.

 

“All these years I’ve been telling you the elders were poisoning you, anija.  It’s only fitting they would do the same to me, in the end.”

 

Genji’s pupils are huge, eerie black swallowing up the amber of his irises, sweat shining on his skin.  His hair is wet, matted to his face. Genji’s fingers shake as he clings, until he’s trembling all over, body shaking in Hanzo’s arms.  It takes longer than it should to put it together; Genji’s words, the sour taste of his blood, the way he’s sweating and shivering and mumbling, so far from lucid that it makes Hanzo’s guts twist.  Hanzo reaches for his sword, running his fingertips through the crimson smears on the blade and bringing them up to his face to breathe in deep. 

 

He can smell it, now that he knows what he’s looking for, the acrid hints of poison on his steel.  He’s dipped his arrowheads in it enough times before loosing them on his enemies that it’s impossible to mistake for anything else.  Hanzo looks towards the elders, who linger on the stairs of the temple, clustered together like a murder of crows ready to pounce. At Hiro in particular, who shrugs, nonchalant, and smiles.

 

“We do what we must to ensure the job is finished.  In case you had second thoughts, or notions of mercy.  It’s what Sojiro would have wanted.”

 

Hanzo bares his teeth, because that is a  _ lie.   _ To hear his father’s name used as a weapon to try and bend him to the elders’ will, to leash him like an unruly dog, is nauseating.  But Hanzo can’t think of that right now.

 

All he can think of is Genji, quaking against him, his blood pooling warm underneath them both.  Hanzo cups Genji’s cheek, palm wet, and Genji smiles up at him.

 

“You’ll finish it for me, anija?”  Genji asks, and Hanzo knows he’s not talking about himself.  He nods, and Genji’s smile turns vicious, teeth stained pink from a cut in his mouth.  “Make it hurt,” he says, sneering, “it’s what chichiue would have wanted.” Hanzo nods again, and he can see Genji fading, the light starting to go out of his eyes.

 

Hanzo leans down and kisses him on the mouth.  In front of the elders, in the middle of the temple, with all of his ancestors watching.  Kisses him hard, tongue licking into Genji’s mouth, hungry and desperate. Then it goes slack against his own, lips already cold, hands falling lifeless from Hanzo’s gi.  Genji.

 

Genji is dead.

 

Except he’s not, not entirely.  His heart has stopped beating, and he isn’t breathing, but Hanzo can feel energy thrumming just beneath his skin.  His hand slips underneath Genji’s gi, until his palm lays flat over the ink of Genji’s tattoo. 

 

The dragon warms under his touch.  It hums, writhing and alive and hungry, and Hanzo isn’t ashamed to beg.

 

_ Please, I’ll do anything, how do I save him,  _ and the answer isn’t surprising.

 

Genji’s dragon wants blood.

 

Genji’s dragon wants blood, and Hanzo will give him anything.

 

The words are clearer in his mind than any that have ever been spoken to him, and Hanzo closes his eyes, and listens.

 

_ Let the dragon take you. _

 

Hanzo does.

 

-

 

It’s nothing like using his dragons in battle.  Nothing so distinct from his own being, pulling energy out of himself and sending it to do his bidding.  Not this time. This time, Hanzo doesn’t summon.

 

Hanzo stands, and transforms.

 

The bones in his hands crack and shift until they are clawed and inhuman.  Long talons creep from his nail beds, viciously sharp, the joints of his knuckles oversized and unsettling.  His skin shimmers iridescent blue all the way up to his elbows, no longer smooth but covered in scales. The metal on his ankles and calves shatters and falls away, unable to contain the muscle and bone growing within it.  His feet are unrecognizable, the armor he’s always worn a pitiful imitation of the pair of brutal claws now tipping them. He feels balanced in a way he never has, as though he’s been missing a limb all this time.

 

Hanzo only realizes he has a tail when it curls around one of his feet, thick at the base but thinning out at the end, blue with golden frills twisting down the center.  His gi is irreparably destroyed, and Hanzo sheds it without a thought, letting the tattered remnants fall to the floor. The skin on his cheekbones is tight, and he glances down into the pool of blood at his feet to see his reflection.  Scales over his cheeks, over his jaw. Fangs too long for his mouth, curving up from his jaw, glinting in the firelight of the altar. Horns curling back from his temples.

 

Eyes glowing vivid bright, until there are shadows twisting out from him, pulsing.  Like the light is breathing with him, alive with his fury.

 

Genji’s voice rings in his head, guttural and dark.

 

_ Give them to me. _

 

Hanzo does.  

 

They try to run, but there are walls of crackling blue energy blocking the exits, charring their skin  when they try and move through it. 

 

Some of them choose to burn rather than let Hanzo catch them, but it doesn’t matter in the end.

 

Hanzo tears their throats out with his teeth, and lays them out next to Genji, until the floor of the temple is awash in blood.  He rips out their hearts with his claws, squeezing the gore from them like overripe fruit, letting it drip over his knuckles.

 

He pulls Hiro’s from his chest and takes a bite, scarlet oozing down his chin.  It’s foul, but something ancient in him thrills at the taste as he places what’s left of it gingerly next to his brother’s body.  He can feel Genji’s energy, pounding like a heartbeat, louder with every life he takes, until it’s all Hanzo can hear.

 

Until it’s all Hanzo is, the promise of Genji returned to him rushing through his veins, swelling in his chest.

 

There’s someone left, hiding upstairs.  As though Hanzo can’t scent him, the stench of fear pungent and overwhelming.  As though wood and walls and paper could keep him from his vengeance.

 

As though he isn’t a monster who’d rip apart the earth itself to get at his prey.

 

The last of the elders is crying when Hanzo finds him.  Loud, and ugly, and Hanzo makes a disgusted face, dragging him downstairs by the hair.

 

When he slits his throat it looks decadent, the bright rush of blood painting him in slick shades of red.  There’s so much that it’s dripping down the steps of the temple, oozing between the boards, everything reflected back at Hanzo in crimson.  There are handprints smeared across the altar, footprints slick and messy on the floor. Broken shoji panels, fallen lanterns, everything beautifully devastated.  All the things the elders were willing to let Genji die to preserve, destroyed, sacrificed. 

 

The world looks different through slitted pupils.  The eyes of a dragon. 

 

He kneels next to Genji, his brother’s gi torn and ragged from their fight, and splays his palm over Genji’s tattoo again.  Panic flares briefly, and Hanzo is worried that it isn’t enough, that Genji’s dragon needs more.

 

Hanzo will take as many lives as he has to in order to bring Genji back to him.  Will feed him the people of Hanamura one by one, if necessary, until there’s nothing left of the place he calls home.  Just the memory of a town. Empty homes and abandoned shops, the shadows haunted by Hanzo’s ghost.

 

Genji’s voice is in his head again, rumbling and beastly, but it’s neither frightening nor strange.

 

_ Blood for blood,  _ and it’s warmth, and want, and belonging.

 

The words make Hanzo unfurl, and he’s home like he’s never been, Genji’s power rolling over him in a wave.  The bright blue energy that blocks the doors morphs into something green, and engulfs the temple. Engulfs Hanzo, and Genji, and everything around them.  It consumes the bodies of their fallen kin, burning them away until there is nothing left. No bones, no blood, no ashes, just brilliant viridian light swirling like smoke in the air.  It twists, and coils, coalescing into a spiral before pouring into Genji all at once. He arches like he’s been electrified, clothes and armor melting away into the ether, spine bowing up off the floor as his body shifts and absorbs the energy.

 

As his body transforms, taking what Hanzo has given him.  Scales, and claws, and horns, just like Hanzo, Genji breaking apart and reforming into something new.

 

Something ancient, and Hanzo hears it when his heart starts beating again, when his lungs suck in a heaving breath, when the power that brought Genji back settles down into his blood.  His eyes flash open, slitted and vivid green, glowing bright. Then they lock on Hanzo, and  _ oh—  _ Genji.

 

Genji is beautiful. 

 

Genji is  _ alive,  _ and Hanzo is whole again under his stare.

 

He takes in Hanzo like he’s seeing him for the first time.  Like he’s watching a sunrise, or an eclipse. Something of a magnitude he can’t quite understand, but is unable to look away from.

 

There is nothing human in Genji’s gaze, and he has always been fast, but Hanzo can’t even follow the movement when he rises.  Genji is just suddenly  _ there, _ clawed hands tugging him close, arms closing around him.  He clutches Hanzo brutally tight, and the talons tipping his fingers now should cut into Hanzo, but they don’t, scraping rough over the scales on his hips but not breaking skin.  Genji’s palm settles at the base of his spine as he pulls him in, nuzzling into his neck, until Hanzo is arched against him. He can feel Genji’s horns glancing across his jaw, and Hanzo lets his head fall to the side, offering up his throat.

 

It feels right, easy as breathing.  Automatic like the blood flowing through his veins, something he can’t control, can’t resist.  All he can do is yield to it, to Genji, and the noise his brother makes would be impossible with a human mouth.  He growls, licking a scorching stripe up Hanzo’s throat, over the shining blue scales there.

 

“Mine,” Genji hisses, and sinks his teeth in deep.  Something hot flares low in Hanzo’s belly, and he goes limp in Genji’s grasp, weak kneed and breathless.

 

Genji holds the bite for a long moment, like he’s waiting for Hanzo to struggle, to try and break free.  Hanzo makes a keening noise in the back of his throat instead, and tries to ignore the heat throbbing between his thighs, the wetness pooling there, foreign and out of place.  Tries to ignore how empty he feels, like there are pieces missing that only Genji can give him. He doesn’t know how to ask for what he needs, or what to ask for, how to articulate it in a way that makes sense to him.  Doesn’t even know what it is, this primal agony inside him he’s never felt before. There’s a hollow place where his bones should be, in his guts, a fire burning through his veins. 

 

“Genji, please, please,” he begs, words distorting around his newly formed underbite, around the fangs protruding up from his bottom jaw.  Hanzo clenches his thighs together, the temple gone hazy and out of focus around them. Hanzo can  _ smell  _ Genji.  He scents his lust, recognizes it like he’s known it his whole life.  As though Genji’s want had always been something he could breathe, and taste, and feel, instead of something intangible, whispered in his ear, hitched in desperate little breaths in the dark of their rooms.  

 

Genji releases his bite and growls again, a rumbling purr.  He noses into Hanzo’s throat, lapping the blood away from the wound he’s left behind.  It’s already healing, closing up under Genji’s tongue, a dragon’s affection soothing it away.  Genji’s hand slides down around the base of Hanzo’s tail to slip between his cheeks, more careful of his claws than Hanzo would have thought possible right now.  He’s slick there, hot and achy, throwing his legs open so fast in almost unbalances him. Genji’s growl increases in volume, reverberating in the emptiness of the temple, and then everything is a blur of motion.

 

Hanzo is on his stomach before he can blink.  He tries to lift himself up on his elbows, but Genji growls and shoves him back down, a clawed hand splayed between his shoulder blades to press him flat against the floor.  It’s hard under his cheek, his horns knocking into the wood, hair tangled around his face. Words seem out of Genji’s reach at the moment, but Hanzo’s instincts are there, surging up to take their place.

 

Hanzo arches his neck until it hurts, baring it to Genji as best he can.  He gets his knees under him and raises his hips high in the air, lifting his tail up, tossing it to the side to leave everything exposed.  Presenting himself, knees sliding wider and spine curving, claws digging into the floor on either side of his head in desperation. Then Genji’s talons scratch down his spine, one hand settling high on each of his thighs, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart.  His growling hasn’t stopped, a steady noise that Hanzo can feel vibrating in his chest. 

 

There is a pause, as though Genji is appreciating the sight before him, Hanzo open and wet and yielding. Then Genji’s breath brushes warm against Hanzo’s skin, and he licks into him, his growl going feral and pleased all at once.  

 

It’s not the first time Genji has done this to him, eaten him open until he is shaking with it, but everything is different now.  Genji’s tongue feels strange, serpentine, sinking further into him than should be possible. Hanzo shivers, oversensitive already, bucking back into Genji’s mouth.  Every slick swipe makes him gasp anew. It’s perfect, and Hanzo is already too close to coming, the euphoria of having Genji back so visceral he can feel it pulsing through his veins.

 

Too soon Genji pulls back, and Hanzo whimpers in complaint.  He glances over his shoulder, a baleful look on his face, ready to snap his teeth and demand Genji finish what he started.

 

Except then Genji is pushing into him, his cock splitting Hanzo wide.  Genji is too big, much larger than Hanzo remembers, and he hasn’t prepared himself.  Hanzo winces but doesn’t protest, waiting for pain that never comes. 

 

It should hurt.  

 

It should hurt, but it doesn’t, and the stretch has Hanzo scratching furrows in the wood under his claws.  The slick Hanzo’s leaking makes it easy, like his body is drawing Genji deeper on its own. It’s too good, Genji’s barely inside and Hanzo can hardly breathe.

 

Then Genji’s cock nudges up against something within him, something tight, something that has Hanzo’s toes curling.  It feels like he’s pressing into him all over again, deeper than before, Hanzo’s whole body alive with tension. Genji seems to feel it too, this second opening he’s pushing past, the brutal clutch of Hanzo’s body.  He shudders, hips rutting forward, talons biting harder into Hanzo’s thighs. When he’s buried to the hilt Hanzo arches, lifting up on his hands to press back into Genji. He needs it, needs every inch of contact, needs Genji to devour him.

 

Genji allows him to move this time, circles his arms around Hanzo, hands spread out over his chest to help support him.  It’s not just Genji’s cock that’s bigger, it’s all of him, and Hanzo is surrounded. The whine that comes out of him when Genji pulls out is animal and distraught.  That emptiness inside him pulses with every withdrawal, and fades with every inward thrust, a hunger in Hanzo that is only sated when Genji is sunk deep. His brother fucks into him hard, but slow, like he’s trying to push in further, to force Hanzo’s body to take more of him.  Hanzo is noisy, as he never is, as he’s never allowed himself to be.

 

All these years he has been with Genji, and Hanzo is always so careful.  Holding back his moans, and biting down on his fingers. Muffling his cries in his pillow, panicked and needful and  _ hush, Genji, someone will hear us. _

 

There is no one left to hear them now, and Hanzo lets it all go, every gasp and mewl and whimper that’s lived caught up in his throat, hidden away since the first time Genji kissed him.  

 

Genji’s hands never stop moving, petting over every inch of Hanzo’s skin, possessive but affectionate.  He gropes Hanzo’s chest, thumbs roughly over his nipples, and the scratch of his claws is delicious. Sharp teeth nip at Hanzo’s neck, and Genji nuzzles into his jaw, over his ear, long tongue flicking against the pointed tip.  He takes a moment to adjust their positions, throwing Hanzo’s legs over his thighs, spreading him wide.

 

Hanzo doesn’t know how long they stay like that, clinging to one another as Genji takes him, both trying to get closer when there is no space left between them.  But then Genji’s pace goes frantic, hips stuttering as he ruts deep, Hanzo jolting with every harsh thrust. He wraps an arm around Hanzo’s stomach to hold him in place, his other palm laid flat on Hanzo’s belly, and that is all takes.  Hanzo comes untouched, seed splashing onto the back of Genji’s knuckles, onto the blue scales of Hanzo’s hips. He feels it all the way down into himself, in his guts, something shifting deep beneath Genji’s palm. It takes his breath, and his sight, ears ringing with it as he shakes.

 

It eviscerates him, and Hanzo tries to come down from it when Genji makes a wounded noise, burying himself deep and stilling.  Hanzo feels him coming, warmth filling him in bursts, Genji shivering with every pulse of fluid. A haze swallows him, making everything soft at the edges, drugging and foggy.  Like Hanzo has drunk too much sake, or smoked too opium, let himself go blissful and dizzy. Genji noses at his cheek, and Hanzo has never felt so safe, so protected, so adored.

 

So loved.

 

Then the base of Genji’s cock starts swelling.  It’s sudden enough that Hanzo jolts, twitching away from the sensation instinctively, which apparently isn’t acceptable.  Genji snarls, biting down where Hanzo’s neck meets his shoulder, pinning him in place. The sensation only grows more intense, and it takes a few moments for Hanzo to realize it isn’t Genji’s cock swelling.  There is something shifting down it, pushing out of Genji and into Hanzo. Mostly round, around the size of a fist, stretching Hanzo even further open as it slides deeper into his belly, and  _ oh, gods. _

 

This is what he has needed his whole life, to be filled with Genji.  

 

With his young.  With his eggs, as that is surely what they are, what Hanzo knows them to be without thinking, without asking.  The tension bleeds out of Hanzo all at once, and he goes limp and pliant in Genji’s arms. Genji make a pleased sound and releases his jaws to lick absently at the wound, almost apologetic.  He rubs slow circles over Hanzo’s stomach as the first egg slides the rest of the way out, a second already pressing past Hanzo’s rim. It feels as though Genji is still coming, weak pulses of fluid spilling into Hanzo, the egg stretching him as it moves inexorably down Genji’s shaft.  

 

There is no longer an emptiness in Hanzo, no longer an ache.  A hollow place that he’s desperate to sate. Now it is like gravity.  Irresistible, inevitable, pulling everything Genji has to give into him.  Hanzo trembles with ecstasy as Genji’s eggs settle in him one by one. It’s not the euphoria of climax, not quite, but not far from it either.  A muted echo, both of them quaking through it, Genji’s growling purr rumbling constantly. Hanzo writhes, and mewls, leaning back into Genji as he repositions them with Hanzo in his lap, supporting all his weight.

 

He isn’t sure how many eggs he’s taken when it finally stops, Genji’s cock sliding free of him with a wet sound and a rush of slick.  There are six, maybe seven. Hanzo can feel them heavy in his stomach, can see how it distends, now, round with their young. Genji takes Hanzo’s hands and lays them on the curve of his belly, covering them with his own, holding them in place.  Even through his muscle, through his skin, the outlines of each egg are discernable under his palms. They sit there in the temple, Genji pressing toothy kisses to Hanzo’s neck, both of them cradling the swell of his abdomen. Genji’s fingers flex, and he tugs Hanzo tighter against him, mouth soft under his ear.

 

“Mine,” he says, voice not quite human, like it is harder than it should be to speak.  Hanzo nods, and bares more of his throat, which has Genji purring again, nosing and nipping.

 

Hanzo wonders if Genji will ever return to himself, be like Hanzo is now.  A dragon in body, but still who he was before otherwise, if simpler, more primal.  Wonders if everything that was human in Genji is gone, lost with his body, fading away in death.  Finds he doesn’t care.

 

He will take Genji however he can get him.  A man, or a dragon, or something in between.  The beast cradling him close is Genji, and that is all that matters to Hanzo, all that will ever matter.  

 

After a while Genji picks him up, every movement slow and careful, like he’s afraid Hanzo will break.  He carries him out of the temple, and into the main house, talons clacking loud on the floor. The place is in disarray, a broken vase, the smell of something burning filtering in from the kitchens, water running unattended somewhere.  Many of the servants have fled after seeing the lights in the temple, the flare of dragon magic. The younger ones mostly, leaving a handful of smiling men and women with graying hair and soft eyes, watching fondly as Genji carries Hanzo into his room.  He lays him gingerly on the futon, and kisses him long and hard, hands lingering on Hanzo’s abdomen.

 

The bell in the courtyard rings, again and again, the pattern and cadence something Hanzo hasn’t heard before, but knows the meaning of all the same.

 

There are dragons at Shimada Castle again.

 

Hanzo smiles, and closes his eyes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill, tell me nice things <3


End file.
